Wife By Arrangement Read online

  ‘Then you’ll be relieved to know that you won’t be asked to accept me,’ she said, drawing back and facing him with furious eyes. ‘Let me make my position plain. I hope Lorenzo wasn’t planning to propose, because my answer would be no, and you are the reason.’

  ‘Heather-’ came Lorenzo’s dismayed voice from behind her. He had returned in time to hear the last words.

  She jumped to her feet. ‘I’m sorry, Lorenzo, but it’s over. We had a lovely romance but it was just a fairy tale. Now it’s reality time, and your reality is your very unpleasant brother.’

  He seized her arms. ‘Don’t go like this. I love you.’

  ‘And I love you, but I’m saying goodbye.’

  ‘Because of him? Why?’

  ‘Ask him. Let him tell you if he dares.’

  She pulled free and stormed away. Lorenzo started after her but Renato growled, ‘Leave this to me.’

  Anger gave speed to Heather’s feet and she’d already whisked herself halfway down the Long Gallery before Renato had caught up with her.

  ‘This is ridiculous,’ he said, reaching for her arm.

  ‘Don’t call me ridiculous,’ she seethed, shaking him off. ‘What’s ridiculous is you thinking you can move people like pawns on a chess board.’

  ‘I haven’t had much difficulty so far,’ he was rash enough to say.

  ‘So I guessed. But you hadn’t met me then.’

  ‘Indeed I hadn’t-’

  ‘It’s been a short acquaintance, not a pleasant one. This is where it ends.’

  She turned away sharply and headed for the street. Outside, the night traffic of Piccadilly honked and blared. Renato caught up with her at the door, taking her arm again. ‘Please, Heather, come back inside and let’s discuss this calmly.’

  ‘I don’t feel calm. I feel like throwing something at your head.’

  ‘You’re punishing Lorenzo because you’re mad at me, and that isn’t fair.’

  ‘Not, it’s not fair. It’s not fair that he has you for a brother, but he’s stuck with you. I’m not, however, and I intend to keep it that way.’

  ‘All right, insult me if it gives you pleasure-’

  ‘After the way you’ve insulted me, it gives me more pleasure than I can say!’

  ‘But don’t do this to Lorenzo.’

  ‘I’m doing it for Lorenzo. We’d only make each other unhappy. Now, will you please let me go, or do I have to scream for a policeman?’

  She pulled free and stormed out onto the pavement, heading straight across the road to where she could see a taxi approaching. She was too angry for caution. Through the noise of the traffic she thought she heard Renato’s horrified voice shouting her name. She didn’t see the car bearing down on her, only the glare of the headlights against the darkness. Then Renato seized her and swung her violently sideways. Somebody screamed, there was an ugly sound of brakes, and the next moment she was lying in the road.

  For a moment she couldn’t breathe. But she didn’t seem to be injured. A crowd was gathering around her, hands outstretched. Lorenzo burst through, crying, ‘Heather, my God! Oh, my God!’

  His voice rose on a note of horror and she realised that he wasn’t looking at her but at his brother. Renato lay in the road, bleeding from a wound in his arm. With a terrible sick feeling Heather saw why Lorenzo had cried out. Renato looked as though he’d severed an artery. Blood was streaming from his arm in a river, and if something wasn’t done fast he had little time left.

  ‘Give me your tie,’ she told Lorenzo. ‘Quickly!’

  He wrenched it off, while she fumbled in her bag for her pen. Her head was spinning but she fought to clear it while her hands moved swiftly, wrapping the tie around Renato’s arm above the wound, knotting it, slipping the pen through and twisting it. Renato’s eyes were open and he was looking at her, but she tried to think of nothing but what she was doing, twisting, twisting, while the tourniquet around his arm grew tighter and tighter, until at last-oh, thank God!-the bleeding lessened and stopped as the vein was closed.

  ‘Lorenzo-’ she gasped.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, taking the tourniquet from her. ‘I’ll hold it now.’

  ‘Thank you-I’m feeling a little-’ Her head was swimming.

  ‘No, you’re not going to faint,’ Renato murmured.

  ‘Aren’t I?’

  ‘A woman like you doesn’t faint. She takes over and gives orders, but she never weakens.’ His voice was almost inaudible, but she heard every word.

  ‘Let us through, please.’

  Suddenly an ambulance was there, the crew urging their way through the crowd, taking over. There were police too, talking to the motorist who was wringing his hands and protesting his innocence. Heather forced her head to clear. She still had something to do.

  ‘It wasn’t his fault,’ she said urgently to the policeman. ‘I ran out in front of him.’

  ‘All right, miss, we’ll talk at the hospital,’ the young constable said.

  Lorenzo helped her into the ambulance and sat beside her, pulling off his jacket and wrapping it around her, warming her against the shock. Renato presented a ghastly sight, covered in blood and with a pallor on his face that suggested death hadn’t been far off. One of the crew was giving him oxygen, and at last he opened his eyes over the mask. His gaze wandered to Heather, then to Lorenzo. His expression was intent, as though he were sending a silent message to one of them. Or perhaps both.

  At the hospital Renato was hurried away for emergency treatment, while Heather’s grazes were tended. She emerged to find Lorenzo sitting in the corridor with two policemen. She repeated what she’d said before, exonerating the driver. At last they left, satisfied, and she could be alone with Lorenzo.

  He put his arms about her. ‘Are you all right, darling?’

  ‘Yes, it was just scratches. What about Renato?’

  ‘He’s in there.’ He indicated the opposite door. ‘They’ve stopped the bleeding and given him a transfusion. He’s got to stay here a few days, but he’s going to be all right.’

  A doctor emerged. ‘You can come in for a minute. Just one of you.’

  ‘I’m his brother,’ Lorenzo said, ‘but this is my fiancée-please.’

  ‘All right, but try to be quiet.’

  Renato looked less alarming without his blood-stained clothes, but still very pale. He was lying with his eyes closed, not moving but for the light rise and fall of his chest.

  ‘I’ve never seen him this still,’ Lorenzo said. ‘Usually he’s striding about, giving orders. What did he say to make you storm out like that?’

  ‘I can hardly remember. Whatever it was, I shouldn’t have put his life in danger.’

  ‘I only know that he was bleeding to death and you saved him. Thank you, amor mia. I know he can be a bear, but he’s a good fellow really. Thank God you were there!’

  ‘If I hadn’t been there it wouldn’t have happened,’ she said, touched by his belief in her, but feeling guilty at the same time.

  Lorenzo slipped an arm about her shoulders. She rested her head against him and they sat together, exchanging warmth and comfort.

  ‘Are you angry that I called you my fiancée?’ he asked after a while.

  ‘No, I’m not angry.’

  ‘Do you love me enough to forgive Renato, and take me on?’

  Renato’s eyes had opened and he was watching them. ‘Say yes,’ he urged her. ‘Don’t turn us down.’

  ‘Us?’

  ‘If you marry one Martelli, you get the whole pack of us.’

  ‘I’ll be a good husband,’ Lorenzo vowed. ‘Good enough to make up for Renato.’

  ‘What more do you need to hear than that?’ Renato asked.

  ‘Nothing,’ she said with a smile. ‘I guess I can take the risk!’

  Suddenly everything was happening fast. The traumatic evening had swept her up in a fierce tide of emotion, and under its influence she’d promised to marry Lorenzo.

  In an instant, it seemed she was
part of the Martelli family. Renato had stretched out his good hand and clasped hers, weakly, but with warmth. ‘Now I shall have a sister.’

  Within twenty-four hours her left hand bore a ring with a large diamond. Two days later she saw the brothers off from Heathrow Airport, knowing that her own ticket was booked for a month ahead.

  Now she was on the flight to Palermo, still wondering what had come over her. Beside her sat Dr Angela Wenham: Angie, her closest friend and flatmate, who was enjoying a well-earned holiday.

  ‘I’m so glad you asked me to come with you as bridesmaid,’ Angie said now. ‘I’m looking forward to a few days just living for pleasure.’

  Besides being brainy and hard working Angie was also pretty, daintily built, and a social butterfly. Her recent stint on hospital night duty had severely restricted her romantic life, and she was intent on making up for it, if the smile on her delightful, impish face was anything to go by.

  ‘Fancy you being swept off your feet,’ Angie chuckled ‘Much more my style than yours.’

  ‘Yes, it’s not like sturdy, dependable me, is it?’ Heather mused. ‘And the way I acted that night-I swear I didn’t know myself. Normally I’m a quiet sort of person, but I was ranting and raving, telling him where to get off-’

  Angie collapsed with laughter. ‘You? Ranting and raving? How I wish I’d been there to see that!’

  ‘I swear it’s true. I even told him I disliked him enough to turn Lorenzo down.’

  ‘Wasn’t that true?’

  ‘No, it wasn’t. But he got me so mad I said the first thing that came into my head.’

  Angie looked mischievous. ‘You did say he had two brothers, didn’t you?’

  ‘You’re incorrigible,’ Heather laughed. ‘I’ve only met Renato.’

  ‘Ah, yes, the monster Renato.’

  ‘I have to be fair. He’s not a monster. I was mad at the way he inspected me, but he could have died because of me. He’s welcomed me into the family, and he actually restored his cancelled order afterwards. Someone turned up from the Ritz and collected it.’

  ‘Tell me about the other one.’

  ‘There’s also a half-brother, called Bernardo. Their father had an affair with a woman from one of the mountain villages, and Bernardo was their son. They were together in the car crash that killed them both, and Lorenzo’s mother took the boy in and raised him with her own sons.’

  ‘What an incredible woman!’

  ‘I know. Her name’s Baptista, and if I’m worried about anything, it’s how she’s going to view me.’

  ‘But you showed me the letter she wrote you. It was lovely.’

  ‘It’s just that someone who can put her own feelings aside to do what she saw as her duty-well, you’d never really know what she was thinking, would you?’

  ‘It’s what Lorenzo thinks about you that counts,’ Angie said staunchly. ‘Hey, isn’t that Sicily, down there?’

  From here they could see the triangular island: close to Italy, yet apart from it, separated only by a narrow strip of water, the Straits of Messina, yet with its own distinct identity.

  ‘A Sicilian,’ Lorenzo had told her, ‘is always a Sicilian first and an Italian afterwards. Sometimes he is barely an Italian at all. So many races meet in us that we think of ourselves as a race apart, doing things our own way.’

  She was searching for him as soon as she and Angie left Customs. And there he was, with another man. He waved eagerly to her and broke into a run. Heather hastened towards him, while Angie brought up the rear, smiling, pushing the baggage trolley, and eyeing the second man with pleasurable speculation.

  Lorenzo hugged his bride, kissing her between words. ‘It’s been such-a long-time, my darling.’

  ‘Yes-yes,’ she said kissing him back.

  It was marvellous how certain she was now that she was here. Within a few minutes of landing in Sicily Heather knew she had come home. Everything about this place felt perfect, even before she’d discovered the details. And that could only mean that she was doing the right thing in marrying Lorenzo.

  ‘This is my brother, Bernardo,’ Lorenzo said at last, indicating the man with him.

  ‘Half-brother,’ murmured the man.

  ‘Bernardo, meet Heather, my bride-to-be.’

  She introduced Angie to Lorenzo. But when he tried to present Bernardo his brother waved him away with a grin. ‘We’ve already introduced ourselves,’ he said, ‘while you two were-er-saying hello.’

  This caused general laughter. Bernardo took charge of the trolley and they made their way to the car, where he invited Angie to sit in the front with him.

  ‘They won’t want to be disturbed,’ he said, smiling.

  So many sensations were converging on Heather that she had only a confused impression of the most brilliant colours she had ever seen, the bluest sky, the sweetest air. Bernardo swung the car around the outskirts of Palermo and down the coast, and soon the Residenza Martelli came into sight.

  Heather sat up to watch it eagerly. Lorenzo had told her about his home, how it was built on an incline, overlooking the sea, but no words had conveyed its beauty. It rose before them, tier upon tier, balcony on balcony, each one a sea of blooms. Geraniums, jasmine, white and red oleanders, clematis and bougainvillaea danced together in a dizzying riot of colour that was always in perfect harmony.

  Then they were on a winding road that twisted and turned, bringing the villa nearer until at last they swung into a courtyard. A flight of broad steps led up to a wide, arched entrance, with a door that was being opened from the inside. Through it came a small, elderly woman, making her way slowly with the aid of a walking stick. She took her place on the top step.

  ‘That’s my mother,’ Lorenzo said, taking Heather’s hand to lead her up the stairs.

  Baptista looked imperious, despite her evident frailty and the fact that she barely came up to Lorenzo’s shoulder. She was in her early sixties, but illness had aged her and she looked older. Beneath her shining white hair her face was sharp, and her brilliant blue eyes missed nothing. But Heather saw the warmth in those eyes, and when the thin arms went around her she felt the unexpected strength in the old woman’s embrace.

  ‘Welcome, my dear,’ Baptista said. ‘Welcome to the family.’

  She was beaming, her expression full of kindness. She greeted Angie equally warmly. ‘When you have seen your room, then we can take a little refreshment together.’

  Although the house bore the modest title of Residenza, it might more aptly have been called a palace. It was built in medieval style, of beautiful yellow stone, with long tile and mosaic corridors. The rooms were lined sometimes with marble, sometimes with tapestries. Everywhere Heather saw wealth, beauty, elegance, and an inbred assumption of authority.

  She and Angie were sharing a huge room. It bore two large four-poster beds hung with white net curtains which matched those at the tall windows leading onto the broad terrace, facing inland. Beneath it was the huge garden, and beyond that the land stretched away until it rose into dark, misty mountains on the horizon. Everywhere the colours had a vividness Heather had never seen before. After the pastel shades of England their sheer depth and brightness overwhelmed her.

  A maid helped them unpack, then showed them out onto the terrace that went all around the house, and led them to the front, where Baptista was seated at a small rustic table, looking out over the bay. Bernardo and Lorenzo were there, and immediately drew out chairs, and when they were seated filled their glasses with Marsala. A larger table nearby was laden with Sicilian cheesecake, zabaglione, coffee ice with whipped cream, candied fruit ring, and several other things that they were too dazed to take in.

  ‘I wasn’t sure of your preferences, so I ordered a variety,’ Baptista murmured.

  The food and wine were delicious. Overhead a flowered awning sheltered them from the bright sun, and a soft breeze was springing up. Heather wondered how she had ever lived before coming to this perfect place. Lorenzo kept catching her eye and sm
iling, and his smile was irresistible, making her return it.

  ‘That’s enough,’ Baptista said imperiously, tapping his hand. ‘You’ll have plenty of time to play the fool, my son. Go away now, and let me get to know your bride.’

  CHAPTER THREE

  W HEN Lorenzo had vanished, and Bernardo was showing Angie the garden, Baptista refilled Heather’s glass. ‘Renato told me how your prompt action saved his life,’ she said. ‘You and I have been friends from that moment.’

  ‘You’re very kind,’ Heather said, ‘but didn’t he also tell you that it was my fault he was ever in danger?’

  ‘I think he was largely to blame. He made you angry with his high-handedness. I’ve spoken to him very severely.’

  Heather concealed a smile. The idea of the domineering Renato being alarmed by anything his frail mother might say was charming, but unconvincing.

  ‘You are going to be very important to this family,’ Baptista continued. ‘More important than perhaps you can imagine. Lorenzo says you have no family of your own.’

  ‘I was an only child. My mother died when I was six. My father couldn’t cope without her.’ Heather paused. She seldom talked about this because it seemed a betrayal of the sweet-natured, confused little man who’d longed only to follow his wife. But suddenly she wanted to confide in Baptista. ‘He drank rather more than he ought,’ she said. ‘In the end he couldn’t keep a job.’

  ‘And so you looked after him,’ Baptista said gently.

  ‘We sort of looked after each other. He was kind and I loved him. When I was sixteen he caught pneumonia and just faded away. The last thing he said to me was, “Sorry, love.”’

  She’d sobbed over her father’s grave, unable to voice the real pain: the knowledge that she hadn’t been enough for him. The practical difficulties had followed-lack of money, the abandonment of her dream of college, seizing the first job she could find. She explained in as few words as possible, and had the feeling that Baptista understood.

  They talked for an hour, and each moment Heather felt herself grow closer to this regal but kindly woman. When Lorenzo poked his head out through the net curtains with a questioning look on his face, both women welcomed him with a smile. Laughing, he joined them, bringing fresh cakes.